Imperfection
by Circius
Summary: Itachi has to be perfect, doesn't he? He always has been, always will be. But what are the real reasons behind his flawless exterior? A little DeiItaDei, a little angst.


**Author's Notes: Ummm...soooo...another one-shot. I've been doin' a lot of those lately, haven't I? Ahh...the gift of having muses for only certain things...-.-**

**Anywhose, this is another DeiIta/ItaDei fic, so there will by le light BOYxBOY action!! Though, if you don't like it, you can skip it if you think things are getting a bit too uncomfortable umm...under the collar. ;D**

**But primarily, this is about Itachi. I just added Deidara because I couldn't help myself. XDD**

**He may seem a little OOC to some people, but what I really wanted to do is delve into his psyche...so I tried to. This was the result. XD **

**I really think Itachi could be like this...if one actually thought about it. Because honestly, does anyone really know what is going around in Itachi's head, or why he did the things he did--and that reminds me. SPOILER ALERT! It does refer to his death in the manga, so be ready.**

**Also, this was one of my more thoughtful pieces, I do think it could go along with _'Differences By Candlelight' _if you want it to, if you like ITADEI, I highly recommend you read it! XDD**

**And since that one was apperently not good enough for my loverly biffily beta/bff _Valiant Poison _(look her up some time! SHE ROCKS MAH ITACHI LURVIN' SOX!!) I wrote this to make her cry. Because I am sadistic and EVIL. Actually, I hope it makes a few Itachi fans out there cry. That was my goal. XDD I LOVE YOU ALL!!**

**And reviews. I LOVE reviews. Also I was thinking about tying this in with _'Differences By Candlelight' _if enough people like both...sooo...eheheheh...XDD **

**Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer:**I don't own Naruto or any of it's affiliates. Though I would love to own the Akatsuki, primarily Itachi and Deidara. Because their both sexy, and even sexier (if that's possibly XDD) TOGETHER! Yah. I'm a fangirl. Uh-huh.

**Warnings: **Rated '**T**' for SPOILERS! Light boy on boy, death, cursing, and a little angst dappled in. And then everything as stirred up and put into the oven's the plot bunnies own in my MIND. XDD

--

**Imperfection:**

_An Itachi/ItaDei/DeiIta fic by:_

_Circius_

_Dedicated to:_

_Valiant Poison_

--

There was no true depth in the idea of death for a ninja.

Not really. Death was failure. Death was the end. Death meant you lost. Death meant your opponent won.

And some had requests to be carried out before they breathed their last breath. Many seemed to know right before they walked into a battlefield, whether they were going to die or not. It was their way of life. Fight to survive…die for what you believe in.

Itachi however, he never did any of those things. He was a traitor because of the love and faith for his village. He was a traitor to his friends, his family as he watched them slump over in death, by his own hand.

And that made many fear him. Never trust him. For why would someone trust a traitor?

But often, people would wonder--since he was a traitor…what were his reasons for living, besides some unknown, insane and unethical idea?

Because no one killed for nothing…or at least, that's what many people thought. There were some who killed just to show their power, just to prove themselves time and time again. They were the sore winners in this game. They could never get enough, rubbing it into people's faces, causing fear. Their wins would mark and scar families and friends for years. And once again they would continue the cycle of the game. Vengeance and Victory. Life. Failure and Loss. Death. It was merely round two, the next turn of the sick charade the world enjoyed playing.

No one ever really knew the motives of anyone in the Akatsuki, which is presumably why they banded together. Traitors. Secret keepers. Itachi had based the character he needed off of them. A selfish character, an insane one. But he digressed. Not all of them were as insane as they seemed.

Yet, even so, even with his monotonous manner in which no emotions escaped, something strived for in many ninja-but never achieved quite as well as his, inside, the Uchiha hated himself. He was unsure of himself.

He had been raised to have his future basically revolve around his village, live and die-but never die. Win, Itachi. You're a genius, you must always win. You'll never be a disappointment Itachi. We know. Don't worry your head Itachi. You'll get it in the end, you always do. No one's as good as you Itachi. No one. Itachi--Itachi what's wrong?

Their voices keep spinning in the dark recesses of his mind, never-ending provokes, reminders of his past. Every moment he breathed, he threatened to snap--the reason he had first considered taking the mission in the first place (besides the fact that it was all but forced upon him) was the fact that he would be able to stop it all. The pressure, the pain, the need to be the best. Perfection. But he was still a boy. And so sorely mistaken. If anything, it had forced him to change further, to become even better then the best. Because he was a famed murderer now, the killer of all the Uchiha save a child.

Perfection…it was such a loose word in the terminology of a ninja.

How perfectly an you hit the targets, do a jutsu? It's all precision. But to have the mind for such precision, one most only have that precision inside it. Nothing else.

People wondered why Itachi was monotonous. And the answer was simple. He knew nothing else. Nothing else except perfection as a shinobi. That was all he could be, or hope to be. He could do anything the leader asked of him, if he set his mind to it long enough. It wouldn't matter if his overworked eyes would trickle blood, crimson staining the rocks as he would move onward, alone. It wouldn't matter if he broke and shattered, as long as he got back up again, and brushed it off, alone.

He was always alone. No one could see him weak. No one. That was drilled into his head as well. In perfection, one could not be weak. He would hate himself as he stumbled after overworking hours long after he should've rested. As he was a fraction of a second slower at throwing a kunai, a hairsbreadth away from the precise center a target. He would hate himself.

After leaving his village, he was lost for so long. He did not know what he was fighting for, or why he was trying not to loose. When he met Kisame and the rest of the Akatsuki, he found some form of semblance to his goals, some way of life he could fall into once more. He had nothing else. He had someone he could follow. A goal that he could strive to achieve.

But at night, when he was alone, staring into the cracked and crumbling ceiling above his head with blurred eyes that wouldn't stop hurting, aching, thrumming. He would see things. No one would know, but he would.

He would see his mother, making him another meal he hadn't cared about, dumping it in the trash outside the training grounds so he could perfect that one technique he had been working on. He would see Sasuke, asking him to play, and him telling the chibi he could not, because he wouldn't know what to do if the jutsu he had copied on his most previous mission was not mastered the next time he was in front of his father or teammates. They were always expecting it to be done. Everyone expected it, like they expected the sun to rise each morning. Itachi to be perfect. Itachi to know what to do. Itachi, Itachi, Itachi.

When he had first discovered the secret of the Mangyekou sharingan, he had been at peace with the idea that there was something he knew he didn't have to learn…or, he was at peace at first.

But as time moved on, he would think about it, as it started seeping into his thoughts like a poison. Wouldn't the perfect shinobi be utilizing all the abilities that were available to him?

It wore him down, slowly, that need for perfection. That need to be flawless.

He realized that was why it was so easy for him to carry out that mission. So easy that he barely even remembered his mother's screams, his father's cries-though sometimes he would still hear them, his eyes never-closing on those nights where he would do nothing but lie there. Alone.

Murdering became easy because it was a sign of his power, of his perfection as a ninja. Unfeeling, cold, stronger then the rest.

He continued to win, adding to his scores.

But as the scores grew, so did his need to be better, better. Better then anyone.

No one would see him stumble as he trained alone.

No one would see him crumple like a leaf when his over-worked and over-strained body couldn't take it anymore.

No one would ever hear him take a breath and eyes snap open in the middle of the night as his mind would relive some of his more gruesome kills, all in the vivid images only someone with the Mangyekou sharingan could provide for themselves, memorizing, instilling.

No one ever saw him bleed or be wounded, save for a select few of his fellow Akatsuki.

And when they did, he could see their eyes questioning him, probing him. They were all striving for perfection as well. And being wounded? Pathetic. Failure. He could not be wounded. It was a disappointment that would take another five flawless missions to even begin to amend.

One could say that amongst the Akatsuki, Itachi became even more tense, closer to the edge of the mind that spiraled to insanity. And very well might've, in his want, his need to be perfect, to be better, to win.

How he hated himself, being a traitor, having nothing but this. Having no goal except to be patient until the day his brother would come for him.

He never counted on anything else.

He never counted on questioning himself.

He never counted on a certain, infuriatingly imperfect someone named Deidara.

He knew that Leader sent him on that mission to "persuade" Deidara to join on purpose, knowing how much he hated traitors. Hated people who would do such a thing without even caring about it. People who didn't understand how the game was played.

He was please with the blonde when he tried to resist. But a mission was a mission. And Itachi had never failed a mission. Or lost for that matter.

But he came close, too close, as close as he had ever been to loosing in a long time.

He was pleased when he won, the rock nin at his feet. He was tempted to kick the boy-because he was no more then a teenager (though the Uchiha really couldn't have said anything about age, since that would make him somewhat hypocritical), but he didn't, because of course he knew that smugness when not needed to complete the mission was an emotion. A sign of imperfection.

And how flawed Deidara was-someone Itachi never even thought could possibly exist in his world.

Within the first year of the rock nin's joining of the group, the Uchiha had discovered the ditz was the most imperfect ninja he had ever met.

Emotional to the drop of a hat, all smiles and loudness, even when on a mission; always expecting everyone to not be a challenge. And though most of them weren't, his carelessness was dangerous to others--and he didn't give a damn about anyone other then himself.

He was a selfish, conceited, nose in the air, obsessed with himself and his artistic skills, spoiled, smartassy snob.

All things that Uchiha Itachi had worked to never be. He would merely acknowledge the facts of how he was amazing and then continue to prove said facts were true, and then strived to better himself. Again and again, an endless cycle.

What he didn't understand was how Deidara was an S-class ninja, but had no care about being imperfect. Less then the best; knowing he was lesser, weaker, then Itachi and many of the other Akatsuki, but brushing it off, not caring.

He had betrayed his village with a shrug (though Itachi would warrant that it hadn't really been a choice), and never had to hurt anyone he cared about. He had no idea what it was really like to be a ninja, Deidara. He had no idea of the sacrifices, or anything else needed. He had no idea what perfection was.

Or at least, that was the idea of character the raven had drawn from the blonde on his first impression.

But slowly, ever so slowly, Itachi began to learn that Deidara had his own ways of seeing perfection.

The rock nin concealed so much, everything that needed to be hidden as a ninja, under that deceivingly emotional exterior. His heart, his trust, his goals. He was as, if not more so, as secretive as the Uchiha himself, powerful, outgoing, not afraid to do what needed to be done in order for success to happen.

Deidara was perfect, but imperfect. Itachi couldn't understand him.

And it was that fact over any other that drove him to be even better then what he already was-to continue being better.

To be perfect.

Perfect.

No one should've ever seen him stumble on the training grounds.

But Deidara did.

No one should've ever seen him wounded.

But Deidara did.

No one should've ever heard him take quick intake of air as he awoke suddenly from another nightmare, a burden all ninja like himself had to bear.

But Deidara did.

No one should've ever, ever seen him weak. Seen him fail.

See him be imperfect.

But Deidara did. Deidara always did. He had the annoying knack of always being around when Itachi didn't want anyone. At all.

The blonde had been the asshole to find him when he went missing from the base and not on a mission, slumped over himself in an alley in a nearby village, hiding under the overhang because the rain felt too much like tears on his face, tears which he must never shed, close to unconscious from overwork after an exceptionally long mission. Eyes bloodied, vision blurred to the point where he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, trying to frantically wipe away the rain; hair disheveled, body trembling. Weak.

But it was the same asshole who went on talking to him in singsong as he all but carried him back, after forcing his elder to tell him of his overwork--and after they got back, proceeded to help with his burning eyes, flatly lying to everyone who asked that the Uchiha had been ambushed by some ANBU who knew of him--and went further to say how the raven was in this state because he had been taken by surprise. He also made sure to assure everyone that the bodies had been disposed of, so no worries needing to ask around, though the Leader did the maintenance check anyway.

Itachi was silent throughout the whole process, but everyone seemed to accept it, seeing at is was very plausible theory, and Deidara was a very good liar. There was no part that did not flow seamlessly.

But once they were alone in his room, the blonde had not said a word. Just went on to patch him up-no bragging, no smile, no annoyance. Nothing but a face the raven wasn't sure he had ever even seen on the other man ever before.

"You're waiting for it too, un?"

The Uchiha had not understood…a thing that was few and far in between for someone like him.

There was a silence as his dignity refused to let him ask the obvious question of "what?" in his mind-but that would be imperfect. He pretended to not care, ignoring his current companion, merely continuing to stare, but Deidara only snorted.

"Yah, whatever. You keep playing that game with yourself, un."

And still, Itachi had not understood what the idiot blonde was trying to say. He decided to settle with a glare-before hissing under his breath as he shut his burning, bloodied eyes tightly.

He ignored the wet cloth as the rock nin once pressed against his lids, probably with a little more force then necessary.

It felt a little better. But not much. It was never enough. One finger was tensed on the bed, trying to fight against his will and be completely relaxed as the other ones, trying to start a finger revolution and tear the coverlets into shreds under his about to be fisted hands. His hands, beautiful things, perfect hands, like an artist's, long and slender, but powerful.

It hurt, so badly. He was loosing everything. His mind. His hope. His faith. His reasons for living, save for the refusal to loose. His eyes.

His eyes. If he lost his eyes he would be useless. Flawed. Imperfect.

He felt oddly dizzy as the water seeped onto his long and thick eyelashes. It was so cold. It was about to start running down his face. Like the rain. Like tears.

"Deid-ara-"

His cracked voice surprised himself as he quickly reached up the hand with the finger that he had felt the blonde staring at when it had tensed, and grasping a wrist a darker shade of skin then his own.

"That's enough."

It was rough, almost a growl as he pulled back with that same hand, trying to wrench the nimble, manicured fingers away from his face.

It was too much.

He looked up once the obtrusive object was out of his vision's way, and their eyes met, blue and metal onto a crimson red that could only be compared to blood. Deidara had a look on his face reminiscent of someone who had just been wounded. Shock was written on his features, his fingers were plattered with rusty stains from where he had accidentally brushed against royally high-cheekbones that were dripping Itachi's life-source underneath the cloth.

He hadn't known about…anything. No one had. And the way he was doing things. No one should've. Save for the people that needed to.

But the same sapphire eye hardened as the blonde once held up the towel, wrenching his hand out of the hard grip. Itachi didn't move, even though he realized he was overpowered, weak. At that moment, he was weak.

Imperfect.

He almost went back to grab the wrist and break it, but he didn't.

He wasn't sure why, but he didn't, looking at the blue-eyed glare directed at him before he was once more surrounded in darkness.

Darkness was a ninja's friend, it was another tool to be exploited to the fullest. How many times had the darkness covered for him, made him invisible? Made it so he could prepare himself for the day when he lost the game, when he would be enshrouded by it, or, if that failed, the day where he could no longer see.

The darkness was the thing that always made him realize that time was running out.

But though he would never tell anyone…it was also darkness that left him aware. Horrifyingly aware, of everything.

In the darkness there was nothing to distract from the voices in his head, accusing, questioning, asking desperately, telling him, telling him.

He was so weak at this moment. So weak and imperfect. Flawed to the state where he shouldn't even be called a shinobi.

He didn't want to loose. He was the pride of the Uchiha clan.

But his dedication to his village…his love for every person he had murdered, that told him he had to loose.

He had to, or be imperfect, unable to hold out, too weak to face death.

Perfect…

The water was pressed so tightly to his aching eyes, but it still hadn't dripped down his face. And it never would. It never would. Never. Never.

He was barely consciously aware of Deidara still kneeling between his legs, holding the cold water so tightly to his face, leaning in so close, he could feel the boy's body-heat.

Warmth. Life. Victory. Winning. That was what he wanted. To get warmth without having to be perfect. Without having to be anything but the bastard that was himself.

If he could even say he knew himself.

Because who was Itachi Uchiha, really?

A murderer, a traitor, someone who cared for life like a speck of dirt on his finger? Or was he none of things? Was he the entire opposite?

He could remember the day they told him his problem. A problem that would never stop haunting him.

After his successful entry as an ANBU, he had tried training even harder then before. His mother and father didn't seem to notice, though little Sasuke had, seeing how the lines on his brother's face were growing more pronounced, how he was getting thinner and thinner, the bags under his eyes deeper and darker, skipping out on meals, social time, everything in order to continue being perfect. Better then perfect. He promised himself he would never loose--

It was only when he almost killed himself in the middle of a mission that the Hokage himself stepped in to put a hand on things.

Besides having an eating disorder and over-exercising with too few calories to support his body-mass or the strenuous activity he was constantly putting himself through, they also figured out through some tests on his brain…

Itachi had developed one of the most advanced form of obsessive compulsive disorder that had ever existed, though it was common throughout the riddled medical history of some of the world's greatest ninja. But his was so advanced, that though the doctors gave his parents their strongest prescriptions, they told him they still weren't sure if whether or not it would work like intended, since Itachi had drilled a certain obsession into his head, like all ninja had, from an early age.

Perfection.

And of course he listened. He took the medication, though it always made him sick afterwards-retching it back up silently when no one was around, but he pretended like he was fine.

He stopped going out as much, training, working, or learning. His missions were reduced by half, on direct orders from the Hokage himself, and much to the displeasure of his teammates.

And it was then when it became almost unbearable.

He thought he wasn't perfect at all, but flawed in the worst of ways. He was sick. And that was the worst thing a ninja could ever ask for-it hung like a death sentence over his head.

He began spending more time with Shisou. And…things just progressed from there, until he finally realized, that it wasn't him that had the problem at all. It was everyone else. He was hardwired for perfection, perfection.

And everyone else was not. They never tried to be better, never tried to be anything but themselves. And that was why they were failures as ninja of Konoha.

That was why, instead of staying after he massacred his family, and letting the Senior council excuse his crimes as they proved their case with their box-loads of evidence to the rest of Konoha, making him a hero, that was why he left.

He was closer to perfect then they ever were. And they were slowing him down. He needed to be around people who truly knew what it meant to be a ninja. And that wasn't his friends, wasn't his family.

That's why none of them were able to stop him as he killed them, showing them how much better he was.

And for years, he continued, improving, but still striving to be better.

Konoha knew it was just easier now, to not explain anything, and have Itachi on their S-class list of nin that needed to be killed. That way there was no evidence of their crime, persuading a clan member to kill not one, but all of their own; the highest of Taboos.

But Itachi forgave them. It was all in the strive to make their village perfect.

But as he sat there, relieving his memories, the soft bristles of the cloth chafing his delicate skin, eyelids cool and wet as blood continued their warm trickle down the side of his face, he realized something.

He found it odd that he was only imperfect when Deidara was around. Only imperfect then, just like he was imperfect around his own family…before they were dead at least. The blonde seemed to be one of those people that had a knack for digging around Itachi's self, finding all the weak points and exploiting them to their fullest, like thousands of little cracks across the stone of his protective outer shell. Without people that could do that for such a long while, Itachi had thought it had strengthened, and it had--but it hadn't been attacked the way the blonde did it for a long time.

Accusing eyes, a knowing smile, lying about what happened instead of bragging of it for reasons unknown to the raven.

Who would do that? Surely only someone who was imperfect would.

He felt a soft hand-soft from all his damnable clay, brush another red trail away from his cheek as the fingers holding the wet towel didn't waver.

He was so warm…Itachi was warm as well, warm and…he didn't have to do anything except be imperfect. To be weak right now, at this moment.

Strange. It was almost surreal to Itachi's way of looking at things. So foreign and unknown to him…one could say it even jostled him a little bit…if something could ever jostle the Itachi Uchiha.

He was close to moving nearer to that supply of heat, his hands back to their former position of resting on the bed on either side of him as he sat patiently, waiting for the pain to subside a little more, or for Deidara to pull away--but moving closer was ridiculous.

Completely idiotic. The pride of the Uchiha, moving closer for warmth. How weak was that?

The voices sneered in the back of his conscious, but fading away into white-noise as he slowly but surely blocked them out.

The moments seemed like hours as they both remained where they were, unmoving. Itachi was unsteady still, his body wavering slightly.

Gods, how could he ever let anyone see him like this?

But just as he was about to send the rock nin on his way, he heard a 'heh' from in front of him. At the noise, he tensed, the eyes he would usually used to ask the question still blocked by the cloth, but Deidara seemed to want to tell him anyway.

"I was just thinking, un."

The raven waited silently for his companion to continue, which he did.

"How you hate tears so much, but your eyes cry anyway. They just do it a little differently then everyone else, don't they? Even you can't not cry, un."

The Uchiha could feel the laughing smirk set upon that stupid, young and feminine face, mocking him. Him. The Itachi Uchiha, almost perfect, but not quite…

But then again, now he was weak. Deidara should laugh at him, do whatever he wanted to about him. Because he was imperfect.

However, the blonde did the last thing Itachi was ever expecting anyone to do to him. Ever.

He kissed him. Just like that, heels of both hands still pressed at the corners of the famed sharingan eyes to hold the towel in place, effectively keeping Itachi harmless in his current state, harmless, in the dark--

Imperfect.

But strangely, the feeling of imperfection didn't irk him this time as he felt the press of the satin smooth lips against his own, no smirk, but doing it…because he could?

The raven remained unmoving as the lips worked his, helpless against the onslaught.

It shouldn't feel good. He shouldn't want the slender fingers barely brushing the sides of his face to bring him closer. His hands should be itching to push the blonde off. His eyes shouldn't be wondering what the rock nin looked like, his lips shouldn't be on the verge kissing him back. He shouldn't be on the brink of loosing his composure just from a simple kiss. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. So wrong. Imperfect.

But it's so warm, the other half of his mind argued, warm and wonderful, a better high then you ever got from killing someone--

But he shouldn't be enjoying it. This isn't perfect; this isn't--

Deidara tilted his head a little more, sliding up his lithe frame to match the Uchiha's, hands not moving from the cloth as he kissed him deeper, seeming to give an effort to see if the raven would react at all-somewhat encouraged by the fact that he hadn't been pushed off and killed yet.

Itachi was still in the darkness, but it was a good darkness. Warm, close, where he could feel and hear and taste and smell as his perfect shinobi instincts kicked into overdrive.

Deidara tasted like something overly sweet, like a candy, with the barest hint of vanilla laced underneath. His hair was so soft, softer then the silk that made his cloak, scented like some sort of fruit--obviously a girl's conditioner as a chunk of stray strands found their way onto his chest. His skin was like a child's, if not softer, from all the clay work that he did. His lips--he couldn't even think about the blonde's lips-he was too busy trying not to think about them…but failing.

Failing, failing, failing. Imperfect.

It was funny, because right now, imperfection felt _so_ good.

It was right then, at that moment, that Itachi kissed him back.

And Itachi also made it a point after he was assigned his first information gathering mission as someone who had to seduce a someone else, that he was perfect at kissing too.

He still couldn't see, he couldn't do anything except kiss back. Back, back, back. To be perfect at being imperfect. It felt amazing, wonderful, exhilarating…

But nothing that Itachi could do again. Ever.

Deidara pulled away before anything else happened, probably to hold himself back. If the raven was dizzy before, he was all but tipsy now, and he hesitated to remove the cloth on his own--

Too late. The damn blonde was already there.

And the first thing Itachi saw again was his smile.

"There, I feel so much better now. Don't you, un?"

The Uchiha blinked.

"See, I thought I was the only one around here who had ever cried at some point, but now I know you must do it all the time sooo--"

The look turned into a glare as Deidara smirked, on the verge of laughter.

"No, no, un! You know what I meant! Jeez! You should really try being a little more spontaneous, Mr. Perfect, un!"

Was all he shouted back as he took the bloodied towel and left from the door of the room, as though nothing had happened at all, his footsteps fading down the corridor.

But then it was Itachi's turn to give a pained smirk himself.

"If only you know knew Deidara."

He murmured, moving to grasp the bed beneath him so he could lay down.

"If only you knew."

His voice was dry, shallow, and maybe we could say sad, if Itachi could ever really be sad.

But of course, he was Itachi Uchiha--so that should be the end of that foolish thought.

--

When Itachi finally lost, finally fell, when the end had finally come for him--He realized something.

He realized his purpose had been fulfilled.

He had not felt the same sense of peace since the day Deidara died, for with him fell the last traces of the Uchiha's imperfection. When Deidara died, he realized exactly what he should do--

And he did it.

Sasuke would be strong now. Sasuke would be able to do everything he ever cared to, because now, he had Itachi's strength, the strength the elder had worked so hard to gain. He might never know the truth behind any of his older brother's motives, but Itachi could die with the knowledge that his destiny had been fulfilled.

And as the darkness came over him for the final time, his brother's image still fresh in his head--strong--

And it was then and only then, that Itachi drew his final breath, now grey eyes blind, beautiful hands limp, heart beating its last beat, skin cold…so cold. But it would be warm. He knew it would. It would be warm and wonderful, better then anything.

And the funny thing was, that if he had lasted a little longer-

Why, Itachi might've cried.

The darkness felt like Deidara's kiss.

It felt like imperfection. Beautiful, wonderful, spontaneous imperfection.

--

**TEN PAGES! O.O Phew, that was a long one. XDD **

**Oh, and if anyone cares, I wrote this whole thing listening to the song _'LOVE AND TRUTH'_ by Yui over and over and over again. I AM IN LOVE WITH THIS SONG. Thank you. :D**

**Please review, it means a lot to me to hear everyone's opinions. Should I join this with _'Differences By Candlelight'_? And make it long? TELL ME!! Thankies! I do luffers joo all!!**


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